


Irradiated

by ScribeOfRED



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRED/pseuds/ScribeOfRED
Summary: Work isn't easy, but he doesn't let that stop him.Spoilers for 3x16





	Irradiated

It’s his job to hit the ground running.

Sometimes that ground is unstable, heaving to and fro as the land bucks a wild rhythm beneath his boots; sometimes the ground is uneven, jagged rocks and shards of ice and shattered tarmac rising up to pierce flesh like splintered bones; sometimes the ground isn’t even earth, is instead turbulent ocean or tumbling asteroids or treacherous crosswinds. _Sometimes_ is never quite the same as _last time_.

Yesterday it was slick sliding mud; today it’s reinforced concrete and gritty metal grating. Or at least that’s what he seems to recall from his one and only other foray into a nuclear reactor. Mostly he remembers the itch of imagined radiation seeping through his protective clothing, the echo of his own deliberately slow breathing in his ears, the gradient of his safety margins leaving the happy cool tones as they gave way to garish, angry heat. He remembers sweat trickling frigid drops down his spine, the way his muscles wouldn’t unlock even after he’d found his way back out into the cleansing light of day, the creeping, chattering dreams by night.

He’s wiser now, though, maybe. Older, for certain, and it’s experienced hands that peel his durable blues off; steady hands that press palm to scanner; efficient hands that draw thick orange and black up over tanned skin. Dry this time, but perhaps for not much longer.

It’s his job to hit the ground running, after all, and running is not without exertion.

The thought of running into air thick with soupy poison makes his jaw clench, his shoulders knot, his fingers tremble, so he doesn’t think. Not about where, just about how—how he’s going to find and rescue the GDF guard, how he’s going to coordinate check-in times with John, how he’s going to ensure everyone in this beast of a facility is going to make it back home for movies and popcorn and peaceful sleeps.

The unstoppable teeth of time are already closing around the trapped guard, so Scott shoves his blues into the empty locker and stomps his boots into a comfortable fit on the way back to his seat so he can reclaim control of his ’bird. The trefoil is heavy on his chest, too white for its black history. An inescapable reminder that human mistakes have far- and long-reaching consequences, always ready to claim more lives.

His habitual prelanding glance down at the _iR_ adorning his other shoulder reminds him, though: he’s part of the counterweight to such a dangerous symbol, worn today for information’s sake, not for participation’s. He’s the solution here, not the problem.

So he breathes, long, slow inhales and exhales, until he feels the weight on his chest even out, responsibility and training pitted against pervading lethality; then he brings _One_ down before the towering storm-shrouded facility, closer to its chained up, deadly heart. The switch for the hatch flipped, he grabs his helmet and prepares to sprint as he’s swung down toward the ground.

Time to get to work.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr!](https://scribeofred.tumblr.com/post/186063062212/irradiated=)


End file.
